


First Hunt

by Deannie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's first hunt. And of course, Dean's there to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Written May 2006

Sammy was reading in the armchair, well-immersed in the world of Lloyd Alexander, when the phone rang once and stopped. He looked up to see Dean walking in from the kitchen, hovering over the receiver until the phone rang a second time. He picked it up quickly.  


"Hey, Dad."  


Sammy put a finger in his book to hold his place.  


"Yeah..." Dean was nodding, looking over at Sammy with a smile. "He's asleep... Yeah..."  


Dad was in Colorado, looking into some ancestral spirit that was throwing people off of the rocks at Garden of the Gods. His friend Michael had brought it to his attention, and Dad had taken off a week ago. At least, Sammy thought that was what he was doing. Dad didn't tell him much, and Dean never offered more information.  


"Okay..." Dean walked to the window, looking out at the darkness of a moonless Arizona night and frowning. He was getting stir-crazy, Sammy could tell. Summer was supposed to be a time to play with your friends--a time to get out and do things--but Dad had been pretty clear when he left that they weren't to go out running around while he was gone. Too many things could happen.  


Which just made Dean that much more antsy. He spent a lot of each day practicing his shooting, or messing with his knives, or doing anything that required him to be moving. Sammy took the enforced isolation as a chance to spend his time reading--either the library books he'd stored up before Dad left for Colorado or the books Dad had left for them to learn from. The grimoires were the most interesting, and they were the ones Dad wanted him to focus on, anyway.  


But even reading about monsters and demons got boring after a while, and occasionally, Sammy joined Dean, sparring with his brother until he could barely breathe from all the exercise.  


Their different choices of activity showed in their bodies, Sammy thought ruefully, looking up at the boy on the phone. Even with all the training, at fifteen, Dean was still on the stocky side, but it was obvious he'd grow up, not out. He wasn't chubby, not like Sammy was. Just powerful.  


"I _know_ , Dad," Dean retorted to something their father had said. Dad was probably busy telling him stuff he already knew. "Yeah, okay."  


Sammy watched. It was all he could do. Dean didn't let him talk to Dad much anyway, when he called, but it was ten thirty, and Sammy was supposed to be in bed. Dad was strict about bed time. When he was home. Dean was better, letting Sammy stay up reading until he fell asleep on his own.  


"Okay... See you then." Dean started to hang up the phone, but brought it back to his ear quickly. "Yeah? ...Okay." He looked worried, going back to the window and peering out while Dad talked. He talked for a while, and Sammy wondered what he was saying. "Okay... No, I got it. ...Yeah. Bye."  


Dean hung up the phone with another frown and headed back to the kitchen. And Sammy followed, grabbing the box of Oreos from the cabinet and fixing himself a glass of milk while his brother looked out the kitchen window with a sigh.  


"When's Dad coming home?" Sammy asked, watching his brother worry. And what was there to worry about? Was something wrong with Dad? "Is he okay?"  


"He's fine," Dean replied, fast enough to calm Sammy down. But his tone was distracted. "Coming home Monday, maybe Tuesday."  


Sammy shook his head at his brother's demeanor but figured that Dean would tell him if there was anything really wrong.  


He went back to his Oreos as Dean peered out into the woods behind the farmhouse they were renting for the year. They'd be moving on in a couple of months, Sammy assumed. A new school in the fall, a new set of people to try to make friends with. Funny. Dean never seemed to have a problem doing it--he always had tons of friends--but Sammy always felt like he'd just managed to make a friend or two before they were up and moving, heading somewhere else.  


"Damn."  


Dean's quiet oath caught Sammy's attention and he looked up to see Dean staring at him thoughtfully.  


"What?" he finally asked, seeming to shake Dean from whatever thoughts he was thinking.  


"Nothing," Dean responded shortly. But there was a worry in his voice that Sammy didn't like. Without a word, Dean headed back into the living room, and Sammy didn't get up to follow until he heard the weapons chest open.  


Dean was rummaging around, and came up with one of the water rifles the two of them used for target practice. Dad had bought them a year ago, when Sammy started weapons training. He'd said it would be good for them to learn to hit moving targets, and the water rifles let them know exactly when they'd made a hit without the risk of one of them hurting the other.  


"What are you doing?" Sammy wanted to know, feeling Dean's stress and getting worried in response. Dean looked serious. Like Dad when he was after something.  


Dean stood up, heading for the small keg of holy water that stood by the back door.  


"I'm going hunting."  


Sammy ran to follow, watching Dean fill the rifle with the blessed water. "What? _Why_? Dad would--"  


"Dad's the one who told me to," Dean cut him off sharply. Sammy just stared a moment, waiting in that way he knew would make Dean answer. And his big brother didn't disappoint, looking up after a moment to give him a concerned stare. "There's been something in the woods out back for a while now," Dean explained, stoppering the rifle and testing it by shooting a perfect stream of water at the sink. "Dad's been keeping an eye on it. He told me it was here, and to take care of it if it looked like it was going to be a problem."  


"And it's going to be a problem?" Sammy asked quietly.  


"Oh yeah," Dean responded, his mutter chill and determined as he stuffed a flashlight in the pocket of his new leather jacket. "It's been getting closer to the house every night."  


Sammy looked out the window, bracing himself for a face at the glass--hideous and evil. Nothing was there, but he felt eyes on him all the same. "It's out there? Now?"  


Dean nodded, heading for the back door. "I caught a glimpse of it in the trees." He pegged Sammy with an earnest glare. "Stay inside. Keep the doors locked. Don't let anyone in but me." He took a deep breath then barreled on before Sammy could interrupt. "If I don't come back, Michael's number is--"  


"Wait!" Sammy cried. "You're not going out there alone! You can't--"  


"Sammy, I don't have any choice," Dean explained. He sounded like he really, really didn't want to do this. And Sammy didn't want him to. Not alone.  


Sammy headed to the weapons chest himself, pulling out his own rifle, spray-painted black and dull, and came back to fill it with holy water. He didn't know what was out there, but Dad always told them to look after each other, and Sammy couldn't do that if Dean took off by himself.  


"Sammy, no." Dean's voice was hard, but Sammy could hear the give in it. Dean couldn't do this alone. He just couldn't. And somewhere deep down, he knew it. "You're just a kid."  


Sammy glared at him, stoppering the rifle. He didn't bother to try to hit the sink like Dean had—Dean always told him he was a suck shot... but he was better than nothing. "I'm _not_ a kid!" he snapped. "You were salting graves when you were my age--"  


"Sammy..." Dean's stern tone petered off and he looked at Sammy. Really looked at him. Sammy tried to look like he could handle this, and tried to quell the butterflies in his stomach. After a long minute, Dean backed down.  


"All right," he murmured. "But you shoot what I tell you, when I tell you, and you keep your mouth shut." When Sammy nodded, Dean turned on his heel and headed to the front of the house. "We'll go out the front, so it doesn't see the door open. We don't want to use the flashlight unless we have to. Maybe we can sneak up on it if it doesn't know we're coming."  


Sammy nodded. He could do this. _Dean_ could do this--he was almost as good as Dad at shooting and stuff. And Dad had been training them to hunt forever. "What is it?"  


Dean opened the front door silently, his voice a whisper in the desert wind. "It's called a di'ka." He closed the door behind them with a minimum of sound, and the soft noises of night enveloped them, making Sammy shiver in the chill. "Stalks people at night. Breaks into their houses and gets them."  


And it had been headed for them? Sammy was glad Dean had bothered to look out the window, or they wouldn't have known it was coming until they were _eaten_!  


"Only thing that can kill it is dousing it in holy water," Dean continued, as he led the way around the massive house. The nearest neighbor was almost a mile away, and the darkness was frighteningly silent. "Now shut up. Let's see if we can get a bead on it."  


Sammy shut up, letting Dean lead the way and trying to move silently, like Dad had taught him. Once they were a few hundred yards from the house, Sammy could barely see the dark-on-dark that was Dean five feet in front of him. He managed not to fall over his big brother when Dean dropped to his knees for a moment.  


"It's in there," Dean whispered, the sound almost Sammy's only indication that his brother knelt in front of him. "Can you hear it?"  


Sammy tried to listen, but all he could hear was the beating of his heart.  


Dean rose, his coat brushing past Sammy's arm. "All right, let's go. I think it's watching the house."  


Dean moved forward, and Sammy tried to stay close and quiet. Once they entered the woods, it was harder, and he concentrated on not snapping any twigs beneath his feet. He was concentrating so hard that he jerked in response to the loud crack of wood fifty yards ahead of them. Dean had obviously heard it first, from the shiver of motion Sammy had felt ahead of him, before the crack.  


"There it is," Dean hissed. He grabbed Sammy arm and pulled them both into a crouch. Sammy couldn't see his face, but he could hear Dad's cold tones in his voice. It was definitely hunting time.  


Dean started in surprise again, and another sharp sound in the darkness had Sammy tightening his grip on his gun.  


His brother's voice was so low, Sammy had to strain to hear it. "Look, I'm going to go around and see if we can--"  


"Dean, I don't think--"  


"We have to get it in a crossfire," Dean ground out coldly, over his brother's objection. "Look, just shoot at anything that moves, okay? Holy water will kill it, but it's not going to hurt me, so don't hesitate, you hear me?" His voice was comforting now, and Sammy bristled. It wasn't like he was a little baby that was scared and had to be coddled! "It'll be fine, Sammy. I've got your back."  


And Dean did. Always. So Sammy nodded in the darkness and stayed where he was, listening to the rustle as Dean moved away from him, with a sharp "Don't move and _don't_ make a sound until I tell you to, okay?"  


Sammy didn't answer. Dean said not to make a sound, and Dad had told them both a million times that the guy running the hunt was the one in charge. You were supposed to do everything he said. Without question.  


The gun was heavy in his hands, and the plastic trigger was a little slippery with his sweat as he waited, listening for everything and anything. Holy water. Completely harmless to them, but deadly to some infernal creatures like the di'ka. And Dad had been teaching Sammy about different curses and prayers in Latin, too. He could maybe use that, if he had to. He should be able to do this, right?  


It was a very long minute of silence before Sam heard another crack of wood, followed by a wordless yell that could have been Dean. A thud sounded in the thick brush that the moonless night wouldn't let him see.  


Dean had told him to keep quiet, but as the silence ground on, he finally couldn't stand it. " _Dean?_ " he hissed, trying to keep his voice low and hoping the di'ka wouldn't hear him.  


" _Dean, where are you?_ " Silence, followed by a rustle and some crunching that Sammy didn't want to think about. Bones grinding. Crushed... He gripped his gun until he was sure he was leaving fingerprints in the paint, but he didn't hear any more.  


Dean...  


God, what if it got him? It got him, didn't it? That was what that cry had been, and the horrible sounds. Dean hadn't had a chance! Dad had taught them young that there was always a chance _he_ wouldn't come back, but... Dean? What was he going to do if Dean was...?  


And it would come for him next...  


Dad was going to kill him. "Take care of each other." That was what Dad always said. And now that thing had probably _eaten_ Dean, and Sammy was going to have to tell Dad, and--  


He froze as he heard something big and evil heading toward him in the dark. No. Don't freeze. He should have practiced more. He wasn't sure he could hit even something as big as the di'ka sounded like it was. And _wow_ , it sounded big--and angry! Sammy gripped his gun a little harder as the monster barreled toward him, the underbrush crunching louder than Dean's bones had. He'd get it, though. At least he could do that much for his brother!  


It was coming for him, letting out a low, dangerous growl, and Sammy gave a high-pitched scream, emptying his gun full of holy water into the oncoming sounds, pumping the water rifle for all it was worth--  


Only to hear gales of laughter from his brother, who flicked on his flashlight and sprawled on the ground about ten feet from where Sammy had been aiming, rolling around while he tried to breathe through his mirth.  


"Dean!" Sammy yelled, freezing in surprise for a moment before anger overtook him. It was all a trick, wasn't it? Dean was such a jerk!  


Sammy jumped on his brother and began pummeling him for scaring him to death. Under normal circumstances, he knew Dean could have fought back, but he was still laughing too hard to do much but raise his hands and protect his face. "You scared the crap out of me!"  


"Gotta work on that aim, Sammy," Dean commanded breathlessly. "Missed me by a mile."  


"I thought it _got you_!" Sammy yelled back. Didn't Dean understand!? What was Sammy supposed to do if something really had been out here?  


"What?" Dean replied with a grin, his breathing finally calming down. "The 'dick-a'?" He chuckled again. "Man, you are _so_ gullible!" True to Sammy's earlier estimation, Dean flipped him easily, sitting above him now and grinning at his big joke.  


"You're such a jerk," Sammy grumbled, the adrenalin wearing off and leaving him shaky.  


"Yeah," Dean replied. "But you love me anyway."  


That was up for debate right now. "What were you going to do if I didn't want to come with you?" he wanted to know, sorry now that he'd be concerned about this _dick_.  


Dean gave him a warm smile. "Oh, come on, Sammy," he drawled. "I knew you'd never let me go out alone to face something as ugly as that."  


"Yeah, you're ugly, all right," Sammy replied in cold tones. But Dean was right. They were a team. He'd never let his brother face something evil by himself.  


"Come on," Dean said, rising to his feet and giving Sammy a hand up. He sounded as chipper and amused as Sammy was shaken and pissed. "You probably woke up everyone in a five-mile radius with that girly scream of yours."  


Sammy smacked his brother hard on the arm, but Dean just laughed in response. Oh, Sammy was _so_ going to get him back for this! He wasn't sure how, but he was going to make it _bad_!  


"And I was serious about the aim, man," Dean said, leaning down to pick up the flashlight and his gun. "Tomorrow, you put the books away and we hit the practice range." He grinned and Sammy resisted the urge to hit him again. "If you're gonna be watching my back, I want you able to shoot whatever's after me."  


Sammy stood still a moment, remembering the fear and panic he'd felt just a few minutes ago, and he felt the anger wane just a little. Dean was right. He was a dick, but he was right. Sammy needed to watch Dean's back. And he needed to be ready when the danger was actually real.  


But that didn't make him feel like cutting his brother any slack, just now.  


"You coming?" Dean asked, shining the flashlight at him for a second and blinding him.  


"I'm coming," Sammy grumbled. "Get that light out of my face."  


As Dean turned away with a smile and started to head back to the house, his flashlight's beam leading the way, Sammy picked up his rifle, feeling the slosh of a little bit of holy water still left in it. He got an evil gleam in his eyes, lined up his shot, and fired straight into Dean's back, watching in satisfaction as his brother jumped in surprise.  


"Don't worry, Dean," he said brightly. "I got your back."  


The joke was over pretty quickly, though, as Dean spun around toward him, glaring. "Dude," he murmured, mock-deadly. "If you ruined my new jacket, I'm going to _kill_ you!"  


And Sammy ran for his life toward the dubious protection of the house, laughing all the way.  


* * * * * * *  
The End  



End file.
